


I'll Look at You and Say It's the Happiest I've Ever Been

by homelesshats



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homelesshats/pseuds/homelesshats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn drags Louis clubbing. He runs into Nick Grimshaw on the way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Look at You and Say It's the Happiest I've Ever Been

Louis hadn’t even wanted to come. Zayn had practically forced him to go along with him, saying how lonely he’d be without his wingman — but now Zayn is chatting up some girl on the other end of the room, leaving Louis on his own in the back, sitting at the bar, eating pretzels.

The thumping of the bass drum reaches all the way to the back of the room, where Louis is sat down in a bar stool, chatting up no one and being chatted up by no one. And it’s kind of nice, if he’s honest. Not having to make an effort for conversation. So, he just watches the countless bodies of men and women swaying back and forth to the dance music, sipping on a martini and eating pretzels continuously.

—

Across the floor, beyond the front stage, where the DJ has set up his turntables, Harry scrambles playfully around Nick’s feet, too drunk to even realize that he looks like an idiot.

“What are you doing?” Nick asks, finally looking round to him, instead of watching the shirtless men repeatedly walking past. He raises an eyebrow at the younger boy, and Harry glances up at Nick, his big green eyes dazed and his own eyebrows furrowed.

“Imitating a snake,” he says, but his already low and drawling voice is so slow that it comes out in what seems like a low hum.

“And why are you doing that?” Nick shakes his head slightly, a bemused grin on his lips. For a moment, Harry thinks, sitting up cross-legged, and his face scrunches up with effort. He looks a bit like a three year old, confused and adorable, and only then does Nick kneel down to Harry’s level. “I think it’s time you went home, darling,” Nick patronizes, attempting to pry Harry up off of the floor, but Harry only whines, kicking his feet against Nick. “Oh, c’mon, love, don’t be like that,” he scolds, but Harry only juts out his lower lip in a pout.

“Harry!” A voice suddenly calls, and Nick looks up to see Niall rushing towards them with a tan, well-built, puppy-looking boy on his arm. “Haz, you don’t look so good,” Niall comments once he’s made his way up to them, and Nick’s eyes trail back down to the curly-haired boy to see him holding his hand over his mouth, looking like he’s about to vomit.

“No, Harry, Harry, Harry, no, no —” Nick tries to say, managing to get his hands under his armpits, but then Harry is vomiting all over the floor, and Niall turns away, groaning.

“I think he’s had a bit too much to drink,” says the puppy, and Nick glares up at him with tightly-pressed lips, nostrils flared.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Nick replies in a snarky tone, looking back towards Harry and sighing exasperatedly. “Niall, will you help me get Harry up so I can take him home?”

As Nick and Niall pull Harry up by the armpits, the puppy stands aside, though he’d made quite an effort to attempt to help them. At first, Niall insists that he help Nick drag Harry out to a cab, but after a minute or so of Nick explaining that he probably shouldn’t leave his puppy alone in a club full of men who would no doubt snatch him up, Niall’s eyes widen in horror and he agrees that he should stay back with his puppy (apparently called Liam).

—

Just as Louis stands to leave, finally deciding that Zayn doesn’t need him, as he’s now got the girl he’d been chatting up pressed back against the wall, his head bowed onto the aide of her neck, he finds himself stumbling backward onto the dirty club floor, Harry laying on top of him, looking worse than Louis’ ever seen him.

“Harry? Are you alright, mate?” He asks, sitting up and glancing at Harry, who’s still got his head drowsily swaying back and forth, his arms outstretched and holding himself up.

Louis’ only met Harry a couple of times, really, but he’s always seemed like the charming type. He’s never asked for much, always a sweetheart, but with his looks, and his voice, most every guy in the club wants Harry Styles. Even Louis, sometimes, if he’s drunk enough.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” comes a voice from above Louis, and he doesn’t bother to glance up before standing, gripping Harry’s hands to lift him up — who’s completely out of it, really, and it takes a bit of effort to actually get him to stand.

“No, it’s fine,” Louis laughs lightheartedly, his hands on Harry’s shoulder and hip to steady him. “One too many cosmos, Harold?” He banters, grinning, and then removes his eyes from Harry, who’s too pissed to reply, and Louis looks towards the figure on Harry’s right.

A tall, dark-haired, handsome-but-not-overwhelmingly-gorgeous man stands in front of him, and Louis smiles softly, one side of his mouth curving up further than the other. He’s dressed in a plain black t-shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, like Harry always does, and a light grey pair of skinny jeans, though they’re a bit loose on his legs. His hair’s somehow higher than Zayn’s, which is saying something, really, and it’s a bit curly at the top, drooping slightly over his forehead. Louis can’t see him very well, as the lights in the club are dim and a deep shade of red, but he can tell that the man’s eyes are a deep shade of brown, and they’re spacious over his high, flushed cheekbones.

“Errrrrmmm,” Harry whines just then, still cradled into Louis, and he laughs awkwardly, rubbing Harry’s back soothingly.

“You’re not taking him back to yours, are you? And you haven’t spiked his drink with anything, right?” Louis glances at the man, raising a questioning eyebrow.

The man only looks affronted, laughing once, like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “No, afraid not,” he laughs again, “just a friend taking little Hazhead back to his place.”

Louis nods slowly, looking back to Harry, who’s practically already passed out, his body leaning up on Louis dependently. “I was just about to leave, actually, do you mind if I tag along? Just to be sure you really aren’t going to rape dear Harold here.”

The man scoffs, feigning offense, but then slides his arm around the other side of Harry’s waist, helping Louis guide him out of the door and onto the sidewalk outside.

—

It takes about fifteen minutes to get Harry’s place once they’ve gotten a cab, and then the three of them tumble out of the backseat together once they pull up to Harry’s apartment complex.

It only then occurs to Nick that he has no idea who this other guy is, just as they’re helping Harry to the elevator, their hands barely brushing as they keep their hands steady on the small of Harry’s back.

“So,” he starts, and wow, he’s really excellent at conversation, isn’t he? “Do you have a name, then?”

“Louis,” the man grunts as he lets Harry fall into him, his back pressed up against the back of the elevator. “You?” “Nick,” he replies slowly, mostly distracted. He watches Louis for a moment, letting his appearance sink in, as Harry bows his head down onto Louis’ shoulder.

His white-blue shirt is buttoned up to the top button, small flecks of some sort of pattern just adding the right amount of femininity, and they match the light blue jeans he’s got on, just barely making his skin seem a bit more tan. His eyes, downcast and a bit uncertain as he looks at Harry, are an unbelievably light blue-grey, lively and iridescent. It’s easier to see him in the fluorescence of the elevator lights, instead of the club, and the slight curve of Louis’ pink lips match the tint on his cheeks.

Once they make it up to Harry’s flat, ignoring his mumblings of ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I’m not even drunk,’ Nick uses his spare key to get in, then follows Harry and Louis inside. Harry’s flat is dark and crowded, his furniture at odd angles and the walls squished in together at the most ridiculous angles.

When Nick had first seen Harry’s flat, he’d immediately complained about it, to which Harry replied ‘Yeah, well, I’m not the one with a filthy rich step-uncle twice removed, am I?’ and then proceeded to take Nick on a tour of the small apartment. Nick flicks on the lights, mostly just an overhead lamp-slash-ceiling fan in the living room, besides the kitchen light above the sink, which he then goes to turn on, in case Harry wakes up in the middle of the night after they’ve both gone and is still a bit tipsy. Even if they’re not there, he might be able to see, then.

Before he follows Louis and Harry to Harry’s room — after Nick’d had to tell Louis where it was, because Harry is so absolutely pissed that he can’t even remember where his bedroom is in his own apartment — Nick goes to the refrigerator to pluck a bottle of water from the shelves. His feet pad slowly against the carpeted floor, his long strides taking him farther with each step, and then moves into Harry’s room, the familiar smell of Harry’s cologne, instead of the multiple beers he’d been drinking, floods into Nick’s nose.

“Here,” he simply says to Harry, placing the opened bottle in his hand and hoping he can actually get it to his lips without help, “It’s water, drink it.”

Without hesitance, Harry obeys Nick, taking a sip from the bottle carefully before holding it out to Nick again, silently asking him to place the cap back on. Nick sets the bottle onto Harry’s bedside table, explaining to him that it’d be there if he needed a drink, to which Harry nods nonchalantly and begins to fumble toward the bed, not even bothering to remove his clothing.

“Should we get him undressed, or just leave him?” Louis mutters to Nick, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Nick kneels down at the foot of the bed, where Harry’s feet coincidentally are, and begins to remove Harry’s boots, untying them and tossing them to the side.

“He’ll be fine, we’ll just tuck him in,” Nick says, looking up at Louis, who nods once and then goes to pull down the duvet as much as he can without pulling Harry down as well.

“C’mon, then, Curly,” Louis groans as he tries to move Harry under the covers and onto the pillows, “Time to go to sleep.”

“Sleeeep,” Harry murmurs into the fabric of his sheets, and Nick rolls his eyes, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, darling, sleep, come on, under the covers.”

—

After making sure that Harry would be alright by himself, and that he was asleep, Louis and Nick make their way down the stairs, instead of waiting for the elevator that’s possibly the slowest that Louis’ ever come by in London, and then step back out onto the streets, where they realize that their cab has left.

“Where — ?” Louis starts, but then Nick laughs once, and Louis turns to him, his eyes narrowed, “You think this is funny? I’m gonna have to get another cab, now, or I’ll have to walk, like, twenty blocks to get back home.”

Nick shakes his head, still smiling, “I didn’t say anything was funny. Besides, there’s no way you’re going to catch a cab right now. It’s half-eleven on a Friday evening in London — you’d have a better chance of seeing Big Foot.”

“Right,” Louis snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to begin walking in the direction of his flat.

But, then, “Wait, Louis —”

He turns, slowly, and raises and eyebrow at Nick, who’s a fair bit closer than Louis remembers, “What?”

“My place is just around the corner,” Nick elaborates, shrugging halfheartedly, “If you want, you can just crash at mine tonight, and then get a cab in the morning.”

For a second, Louis takes Nick’s appearance in, the way he’s presenting himself, and finds that even though he barely knows him, and he’d only just met him fifteen minutes ago, he trusts him. Even if it’s just a little bit. There’s something in his large, brown eyes that make Louis want to believe there’s good in him.

“You sure?” He asks, unsure himself.

“Well, I’m sure I’m not going to let you walk around London all by yourself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Nick laughs, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, “I could even walk you home, if the thought of staying at my place repulses you that much.” Something bubbles up inside of Louis’ stomach just then, and he’s not sure what it is, and what caused it, but it’s got him smiling — reluctant as it is — and he’s rolling his eyes, moving back towards Nick and pulling on his forearm back the other direction.

“C’mon, then,” he mutters, and pretends not to notice the smile that plants itself on Nick’s lips.

They get to Nick’s faster than Louis thinks they would’ve, and he pleasantly surprised when the complex has a lobby, decorated in a warm, sultry red color, complimented by the lights fixtures, and the large, marble staircase along the side of the room.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, unaware that he’s taken hold of Nick’s forearm again.

“What?” Nick glances at Louis, then about the room, and then, lastly, his eyes trail to Louis’ hand on his arm.

Louis blushes, his lips pursing as as he pulls his hand back, restraining it in his back pocket. “It’s just really nice, is all,” he clears his throat, following Nick up the stairs, and then they turn into a small hallway where there’s four different elevators, the first of them open and unoccupied. Nick presses the button for the sixth floor, the light underneath the clear plastic igniting, and then they both silently wait for the ding of the elevator, signaling that they’ve made it up to the sixth floor.

Nick’s apartment is large, and spacious, and greatly different from Harry’s. He’s got black carpet along the floors all around the front room to the corridor down the back of the flat, and Louis can guess that that’s where the bedroom is, along with the bathroom. The walls are a grey-tinted white, though it’s hard to make out the color with the hundreds of records that are lining them.

“Oh my god,” Louis exclaims, his eyes widening when he sees a old, beaten down record of Abbey Road, the middle of the large record signed in all four names of the band members. “Is this real?”

“Uh, yup,” Nick answers nonchalantly, throwing his keys into a keybowl next to the front door, proceeding to slip off his shoes, “My uncle gave it to me as a birthday present.”

Louis stares at the record, his eyes the size of saucers, he’s sure, his hand unable to remove itself from the cover. “Are you serious?”

Nick shrugs once, his lips curving up at the side, “My uncle was never much of a fan of ‘em, anyways.”

“You’re shitting me,” he replies, finally moving his hand to clutch onto the heel of his shoe and pull it off, letting it fall to the floor. He takes the other off, then, stepping away from the wall and beginning to admire the other records that seem to be decades old. 

“D’you fancy some tea? I could make some, if you want?” Nick asks in a small, unsure voice, watching Louis drift around his apartment in a dream-like daze.

“Yeah, yeah — tea would be nice,” Louis nods, finally looking at Nick for the first time since they’d stepped into his flat.

He boils the water to the right temperature, letting the teabags settle in as he moves to refrigerator to pull out his carton of milk, and then over to his cupboard to retrieve his sugar.

“Louis?” Nick calls into the living room, “How much sugar —”

“None, thanks,” Louis says with a bright grin as he steps into the kitchen, sliding up beside Nick on the counter and reaching for the spoon Nick’s laid out on the marble. He takes it and places it into the mug, stirring gently and pressing the teabag up against the side multiple times before pulling it out and looking up at Nick to, no doubt, ask where the trash bin is.

“It’s just there,” Nick nods over behind the refrigerator, continuing to stir in his sugar, already having taken out his teabag, and then pouring a bit of milk in.

Louis retrieves the milk directly from Nick’s hand as he passes by him, coming back from the other side of the room, and gives Nick a mischievous look before tipping the carton just enough so that a good portion of milk makes its way into his mug.

As they settle onto Nick’s white couch in the middle of the living room, the large, flat-screen television facing them at the center of the mass of records, Nick pulls the remote onto his lap, taking a sip from his mug.

“Why no sugar?” He questions simply, turning on the television to some kind of reality show.

Louis shrugs, careful to balance the contents in his mug, “I like my tea strong, I guess? I grew up drinking my tea with no sugar,” he sips at his tea, as if demonstrating, “My taste buds just grew accustomed to the taste.”

They sit for a while, watching the reality show that Nick continues to whine about, but refuses to change. Their thighs are just close enough on the soft fabric of the couch that if either one of them were to move just a bit, to wiggle in comfortably onto the cushions, or to adjust their position, they’d be touching properly. And that, for some reason, makes the hairs on Nick’s arms stand up.

When the clock finally reaches half-past midnight, Louis yawns, and Nick notices out of the corner of his eye, smiling ever-so-slightly at the cute look on his face when he realizes he hadn’t been expecting that large of a yawn.

“Tired?” Nick says, a bemused little grin settled onto his mouth, and Louis hums once, his eyes staying open as much as they can. “Well, I’d offer my own bed, but I think that’d be a bit weird, sharing a bed with a complete stranger —”

“Stranger?” Louis presses, looking over at Nick, and, yup, there — they’re touching now. “You’d invite a stranger up to your flat? And make him tea and watch telly?” He grins back, his sleepy eyes blinking slowly as he faces Nick.

“We don’t exactly know anything about each other,” Nick states flatly, “Besides the fact that you like your tea without sugar, you unabashedly like reality television, and you pretend to act like you’re not a mother hen for your friends, even though you kind of are.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow and he narrows his eyes at Nick, setting his mug down on the dark carpet beneath his feet. He turns to face him, his knee pressing up against Nick’s thigh, and rests his arm along the back of the sofa. “What was that last one? A ‘mother hen’?” Nick nods, smirking at the other man, “And how do you figure that?”

In a second, Nick is thinking of the moments he’d only just witnessed that night; Louis helping Harry to the cab, an letting him rest his heavy head on his shoulder. When they’d gotten to Harry’s, and he’d led him to his room, being sure he’d be alright on his own, without them. And even when they’d been walking to Nick’s place, Louis had asked if Nick thought he’d be alright until the morning, saying that he knew a friend of a friend who nearly died of choking on his own vomit because he’d slept on his back.

Nick can tell that Louis is worrisome, even when he pretends not to be. It’s endearing, finding someone who actually cares about other people’s well-being, not just his own.

“Just a hunch,” Nick answers, and adds a small smile at the end of his sentence, keeping it light-hearted.

Louis narrows his eyes at Nick, then, and tries to hide is yawn as he rests his head on the back of the sofa.

“Well, I must confess I know nearly nothing about you, dear Nicholas.”

Nick shakes his head, rolling his eyes, “Just Nick is fine.” Louis nods, his own eyes closing, and makes a wave movement with his hand.

“Okay, Nick,” Louis readjusts his legs, crossing his foot over his knee, and continues to keep his eyes closed as he speaks, “Go on, then. Tell me about yourself.”

“Why would you want to know anything about me?” Nick watches Louis, the way his eyelids flutter and how his fingers never really stop moving. It’s actually a bit mesmerizing.

“So we won’t be strangers anymore, obviously.”

—

Louis listens intently to Nick’s voice as he speaks, and it’s not his fault if he starts to smile, or if his skin begins to prickle, because Nick has this amazing, deep voice that makes Louis want to roll around on the floor and just listen to him all day.

But, really, that’s not his fault.

Fortunately, Louis actually retains some of the things that Nick tells him; Nick is twenty-eight, he grew up in London, and his favorite color is red. Harry’s his best friend, even though there’s a large age difference. His favorite pastry is red velvet cake, and he’s an only child.

After a while, though, Louis finds himself drifting off, and he yawns at least a combination of ten times before Nick insists that he should sleep.

“Since we aren’t strangers anymore, do I get to sleep in your bed?” Louis grins cheekily, opening his eyes to see Nick, who looks like he’s giving in to the idea.

Without doubt, fifteen minutes later Louis is curled up on his side, facing away from Nick, and smiles tiredly when Nick’s voice floods into his ears through the darkness.

“Good night, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t answer him, he lets him think he’s already fallen asleep, and instead just lets his words replay in his mind as his unconscious slips into control.

—

The morning comes around earlier than Nick would like it to, but when he realizes how he’s woken up — with Louis’ face pressed into his neck, and their legs entangled beneath the sheets — he smiles sleepily and brings Louis closer, his arm draped over Louis’ shoulder.

Only when he pulls Louis close, he finds that Louis’ lower half is a bit more awake than the rest of him.

Louis is still snoring lightly, his breathing coming out in soft little sighs, but Nick has become a bit rigid, feeling Louis’ hardened cock pressing into his thigh. And it’s only when he realizes that he’s also gotten a bit of a hard-on that he feels his face flush, and the hairs rise up on his arms.

He tries to move deliberately slow, attempting to not wake Louis, but when he removes his arm from beneath Louis’ head, Louis instantly wakes up, his bright blue eyes fluttering open.

He groans tiredly at first, confused and dazed, but then comes around, noticing the slight bulge in the pajama pants he’d borrowed from Nick — slightly long on him, but otherwise fitting him rather brilliantly around the bum. Louis’ face, then, becomes a bright pink, even beyond the light tan that glows on his skin, and he purses his lips tightly, like he’s pretending that if he thinks he’s not here, then he actually won’t be.

Sadly, that’s not the case.

“I — um,” Nick starts to say after what seems like forever, “Sorry. For waking you. I was trying not to —”

“No, no, it’s fine, really, I — er,” Louis stutters, shaking his head and closing his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry. For. Yeah.”

Nick chuckles lightly, “Please. You act like not every guy has had this problem at least once.”

Louis opens one eye, then the other, and smiles gently, his face still a bit red. “Right,” he murmurs, and Nick takes a moment to let himself float on the soundwaves of Louis’ soft, scratchy morning voice. 

Louis moves into the pillow, and closer to Nick, finding a comfortable place to lay, carefully avoiding closeness of his hips to Nick’s anywhere, but then he gets a bit too close, too, too close to Nick’s own lower half, and his eyes are widening and fuckfuckfuck Nick really wishes he could just turn into dust whenever he wanted to.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he begins to ramble, but then Louis gives him this look — this adulterated, sultry, suggestive look that makes Nick shiver just a bit — and he shuts up. 

“I see someone else had some pleasant dreams, too,” Louis teases, and Nick wants to laugh, he does, but as soon as it starts to leave his vocal chords, Louis’ hand is on his hip, holding him there, and his voice is somehow gone.

His hand moves slowly along Nick’s skin, tracing soft circles into his hip bone and waist, and he goes nowhere even near his cock, but it the touch of his fingertips somehow travels there, getting his heartbeat racing and his blood flowing so much more than it should this early in the morning. 

Louis’ eyes move to Nick’s chest, watching it rise and fall, and a quaint, little grin settles onto his lips, like he knows how much this is affecting Nick, and he just can’t get enough of it. He trails his hand lower, down to faintly trace over the bulge in his boxers, and his eyes move up to meet Nick’s, unsure but strong, still.

“Is this okay?” He asks, and then Nick is nodding, and Jesus, when did he become such a pushover and where the fuck did his voice go?

There’s only a slight nagging feeling in the back of Nick’s head, telling him that he really shouldn’t have any sexual relations with this guy, with someone he barely even knows, but the way that Louis is looking at him, with his hand moving slowly and purposefully over the waistband of his pants is a bit overwhelming, and Nick is willing to give into temptation if Louis is what he can have.

Suddenly, Nick regains the alertness in his limbs, and he slides his hand up to caress through Louis’ soft, messy hair, pressing their foreheads together and smiling a bit when he realizes that they both have terrible morning breath.

Even through that, though, he kisses Louis, and his lips are pliant, and warm, and he molds them over Nick’s just right, moving them together and only slightly tilting his chin up to get at Nick’s lower lip playfully with his teeth. His hand continues to wander over Nick’s hips, thumb gently ghosting over his cock, and Nick almost whines, wanting him to get at it, to pull him out and touch him and just have him.

“Please,” Nick whispers into Louis’ lips, and he swears he hears a soft chuckle before Louis’ hand moves up to Nick’s chest, pushing him onto his back and managing to keep him down as the rest of Louis straddles him, his thighs pressing into either side of his hips.

Louis’ hands rake over Nick’s chest, pushing up his t-shirt once they reach the bottom, and the leans down, pecking Nick’s lips, before planting small kisses onto Nick’s chest, his lips pressing down, teasing and warm, hands shoving his boxers down slowly. 

Once Louis’ got Nick’s pants off, his bare lower half practically staring up at him, he laps at a spot on Nick’s hip, sucking at it for a moment before nuzzling his nose against his skin, humming quietly. 

It shouldn’t feel like Nick’s known Louis for a long time — he’s barely known him for nine hours — but when his eyes meet Louis’, his eyes downcast and yearning against the bright blue of Louis’, Nick feels something stir low in his stomach, and he’s pretty sure it isn’t arousal, though the way that Louis’ lips continue to trail lower and lower on his body make him feel like that may have something to do with it.

It’s stronger than that. It’s tantalizing and heart-wrenching; it makes him feel as if he’s going to explode, but also vomit. And none of the other countless times he’s hooked up with someone has made him feel like he does right then, with Louis’ lips trailing up and down his cock, pressing light kisses to his sensitive skin and making him feel like the world is in his hands.

Nick’s breathing speeds up when Louis has his mouth bobbing over him, his tongue periodically swiping over the head, and Nick is watching him, his eyes wide and trusting and it makes Louis’ chest tighten, seeing someone he’s barely known for more than nine hours look at him like that.

“Louis —,” Nick’s voice breaks, and one of his hands collapses into Louis’ hair, not tight, but holding him there, his hips bucking up slowly into Louis’ mouth. 

Louis hums around the head of Nick’s cock, forming a vibration over him that makes Nick shiver just a bit, and Louis smiles (as much as he really can), his fingers moving up to the base and squeezing, feeling Nick arch his back a bit and whine.

He starts to work his mouth on him again, both hands fleeing to Nick’s hips and holding him steady, keeping their gazes locked and refusing to let Nick look away. Louis’ thumbs press into Nick’s hipbones, his tongue sliding over the head a good couple of times, slow and deliberate, and Nick chokes out a moan, shuddering.

“Shit,” Nick groans, his head falling back onto his pillow, and Louis sucks around him just a bit before flattening his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, moving forward and swallowing Nick down. “Fuck, Louis, oh —,” Nick’s eyes dart back to Louis’ watching him press his nose into the bundle of curly, dark hairs just below Nick’s stomach.

Louis tightens his hold around Nick’s hips, letting his thumbs keep a bruising hold on him as he continues to swallow around him, only pulling up and off for breath. At one point, Nick moves his hand from Louis’ hair, settling it into the sheets to grip around them, but Louis slips Nick’s hand back into his hair, silently telling him to keep just as hard of a hold on him as Louis has on Nick.

It barely takes any time for Nick to come after Louis looks up at Nick again, his eyes fierce and needy, blue and white and still a bit tired from sleep. His hips stutter against Louis’ lips, erratic and uneven thrusts pushing his cock into Louis’ throat, his come spilling out, and Louis swallowing all of it, every single bit of it.

When Louis lets Nick’s cock slip out of his mouth, Nick’s hand sliding from his hair to the back of his neck, he murmurs a soft “c’mere” and pulls Louis up next to him, feeling how hard he’s gotten just from sucking him off.

He happily moves his fingers to Louis’ cock, slowly working over him and watching Louis writhe against him, his mouth, still pink and a bit swollen, open and letting out small whimpers. Nick’s name leaves his lips a couple of times, somewhere among the harsh breathing and whispers of ‘please, please.’ 

Nick’s opposite hand moves to slide through Louis’ hair, knowing full-well that he shouldn’t love the way Louis backs into it, like he’s a kitten being pet. Louis squeezes his eyes shut, breath coming out in short, harsh gasps, and he’s clutching onto Nick’s sides, holding him close as he hips rock into Nick’s hand.

The soft whimpers that leave Louis’ lips as he comes are just a bit too much for Nick to handle, and he finds himself leaning into his warmth, pressing his lips to Louis’ and capturing his sounds, the beautiful little breaths that he seems to be unable to hold back as he comes over Nick’s fingers.

They lie there for a while, comfortable and settled, even when Nick’s fingers, and a bit of both of their stomachs, are covered in Louis’ come. Nick kisses Louis’ forehead, and his nose, and his cheeks, unable to resist, and Louis’ smiling, curling into him with his eyes closed, his breathing beginning to slow and turn into small yawns of alertness.

“Tea?” Nick asks, just after the clock turns to 9:30.

Making a small noise of approval, Louis nods, his fingers trailing over Nick’s waist, and it takes all of Nick’s strength to ease out of the covers, pulling on his boxers, and then makes his way toward the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head as he pretends not to notice the way Louis watches him as he leaves.

—

A month later, Louis stands in line for a coffee at Starbucks with Harry behind him, going on about something that Louis’ really not that interested in.

“And he told me that if I didn’t want to swallow his come, then I shouldn’t even bother to swallow the food he bought me,” Harry says without even noticing Louis hasn’t looked up from his phone, “How ridiculous is that?”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Louis drawls, typing into his phone and smirking along with it.

“You’re not even listening,” Harry pouts, and Louis finally glances up, pecking Harry on the cheek. “Who are you even texting at eight in the morning? I thought only students who were forced to take dumb Sociology classes had to wake up this early.”

Louis rolls his eyes, moving up in line to the counter, telling the woman his order, proceeding to pay her, and then stepping over to let Harry order his.

“Nick says hello,” Louis tells him once Harry moves over to lean against the counter with him.

Harry gives Louis a surprised look, one that Louis’ always accustomed with Harry finding out that chocolate milk cows, in fact, do not exist, and that Darth Vader was actually Luke Skywalker’s father the whole time.

“You’re texting Nick? At eight? What the hell is he even doing awake?” 

Louis grins shyly, shrugging, and pulls his coffee off of the counter when a ginger man pushes it close to him, already knowing the order is Louis’.

have u still not told Harry about your new job?

Nahh. he’ll find out eventually.

Above their heads, just as Harry and Louis sit down in Starbucks, the cushioned chairs practically caving in with their weight, a radio station starts up their intro, and suddenly, Nick’s voice comes over the broadcast, and Harry’s eyes dart up to the ceiling, as if God himself were speaking to him.

“Is that —,” he looks to Louis, who smiles sheepishly, and then he’s looking back to his phone, taking a sip of his coffee.

welp. i think he just did. wish i could’ve taken a photo. :(

You can make it up to me by taking a few photos later ;)

Louis rolls his eyes at his phone, drinking another small bit from his Spiced Pumpkin Latte, and then looks over to Harry, who’s texting furiously from his own phone, no doubt demanding Nick to tell him why he hadn’t bothered to even mention that he’d gotten the job as the morning radio host for a local station.

He’s not sure when he got so close to Harry, though he’s sure it has something to do with getting close to Nick rather quickly, just after that first night they’d spent together. 

And Louis still isn’t sure why he’s been feeling this tightening in his chest whenever he thinks about him, or why he’s always got a stupid grin plastered over his face when he sees him, but he’s sure he can blame it on Nick, and the way that he’s almost always willing to speak with him, and see him, no matter what time. Louis blames it on the way that Nick smiles at him, like he’s just saved the world, when all he’s really done is boil some tea for them, or cook a breakfast fry-up before Nick wakes up. And he blames it on the fact that no matter how hopeless Louis gets, or how mean or angry he can get, he can count on Nick to understand him, and to somehow fix it; he just makes it better. Somehow, he makes Louis better.


End file.
